


1992 Snuggles

by eruthiel



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: 1990s, New Labour, OT3, Other, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruthiel/pseuds/eruthiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a request for Peter, Alastair and Fiona in a functional three-way relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1992 Snuggles

The darkness required him to feel his path down the hallway, suitcase clutched in one hand, the fingers of the other crawling over familiar walls and doorframes. In the kitchen, 24-hour news was flickering silently across the television screen. He put it to sleep before leaving the door ajar and making his quiet ascent up the stairs. There was no need for light; he knew this place. The bedroom door-handle was cold under his palm.

Nobody stirred as Peter left his suitcase on the carpet beside the door and tiptoed over to the shadowy bulk of the bed. They were there, sleeping side-by-side but separately - Fiona against the wall, frowning into her pillow, Alastair with his limbs sticking out from under the covers as if he were planning to fall out of bed. Peter, though fond of them both, had always found Alastair altogether too heavy and clumsy to be cuddled after a long day, and so having slipped out of his clothes he clambered over the larger man and settled down between them, extending one hand to touch Fiona's shoulder. Her skin was soft and warm. She'd been disturbed from sleep by Peter's arrival in bed, and turned a little, grunting in acknowledgement of his presence and acceptance of the contact. Taking care not to catch her hair where it was splayed out, barely-visible, on the pillow, Peter rolled closer and whispered: "Aren't you going to congratulate me?"

Fiona's words were indistinct. "On what?"

Spluttering, Peter tried to bear in mind that she was still half-asleep and didn't know any better. He kissed her shoulder. "On my election, dear. You haven't seen me since it was announced."

"Have. Saw you on telly."

By this time Alastair, too, was starting to come round, roused by their increasingly noisy whispers and the new weight beside him on the mattress. Peter felt a hand groping towards him in the darkness and clutched it, placing it across his chest so that the three of them were in contact. "Hello, Ali," he smiled. "I know it's late. I thought I'd stop by, since we've all been so busy this week."

Mumbling a token expression of annoyance, Alastair moved his hand up to touch Peter's face, tracing the lines of his cheeks and eye sockets as if verifying his identity. Peter shoved it away but it returned to toy with his hair - something Peter usually found highly objectionable but could tolerate at night, away from judging eyes and cameras. He smiled, knowing they wouldn't see him. "There should be champagne."

"To toast Major's victory..."

"Or poor old Neil's demise?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "No, not that. I mean my career. My seat." He felt Alastair's blunt fingers brush a few strands of hair off his forehead. "I thought you'd be more happy for me."

Without moving, Fiona said, "We will be in the morning, darling. Very happy. Right now we're waiting for you to shut your face so we can go back to sleep."

But Peter ignored her. "I'm not saying that the big picture is especially cheerful. I'm as disappointed as anyone that we didn't do as well as we should have done. But on the bright side, I worked incredibly hard for this, and, well..." He paused. "Maybe it's for the best. The Party will need a lot of time to prepare and improve, after all. If we're going to be in a state to win next time."

"Peter, you have five seconds to shut up if you want to still be alive next time. Five..."

By way of retaliation, Peter pushed hard against Alastair's bulk, sending him tumbling halfway to the floor. He clawed his way back up and thumped down next to Peter, making the whole bed bounce while Fiona sniggered into her pillow. "Bastard!" Alastair gasped, though he sounded more grudgingly amused than genuinely aggrieved. "Do you want to die and force a by-election in your shiny new constituency so soon after getting hold of it?"

"At least I'd be missed..."

Fiona nudged Peter in the ribs. "Watch it, you two. I've got a spare so I won't be without company if one of you buggers off - that won't count for anything if you kill each other."

"You're the spare," muttered Peter and Alastair in unison.

"You're both the spare! Pipe down and go to sleep or you'll have to make your own breakfasts in the morning. And god knows we could all do without that."

They piped down. Peter, for his part, did not go straight to sleep, but he felt the movements of Alastair's breathing become slower and then, minutes later, Fiona's shoulders start to slump as she fell into unconsciousness. He yawned. Here, he could afford to be content; here, he was welcome. As he dropped off he had every intention of staying for a while, this time.


End file.
